Control
by jemmy9
Summary: You just wanted some control over what was happening, some say in it. It doesn't feel like you're in control anymore though. Now it's controlling you.
1. Chapter 1

It's a scary feeling to think you are no longer in control of your life, of yourself. Especially when the things you've done to get to this point were done to give you some sense of control. Life's funny that way. Although staring down at the salad that's been placed in front of you (dressing on the side) that you once would have mocked girls for ordering, nothing feels very funny.

The guy across from you is talking a mile a minute about his summer vacation or something along those lines, too distracted to notice that you haven't even touched your horrible salad. When you started eating less everyone concluded it was the famous Gilmore genes finally becoming that of a normal human. When you started ordering salads you told everyone you'd acquired a taste for them, claiming that a little health food would probably do you good. When you stopped eating altogether, you stopped seeing anyone that would notice, just so you wouldn't have to lie.

So here you are, sitting at the pub with yet another random guy, pushing your salad around with your fork. You spent years making fun of girls like you. Mindless Barbie's who only cared about their calorie intake. But things have changed since...

"What do you think Rory?" You're quickly brought out of your trance when Bill, Bob or possibly Jim, asks for your opinion on whatever he'd been ranting about. If you'd been listening you probably still wouldn't have known what to say, you're not as quick as you used to be. But he's smiling obliviously, clearly just looking for some positive reinforcement.

"Definitely." You say sweetly, gracing him with an outwardly happy smile. Your answer seems to please him and he immediately launches into another story, gesturing so wildly that you really can't remember why you accepted this date in the first place.

"Sorry to interrupt, I'm just going to duck to the ladies room. Hold that thought though ok." You're out of your seat before he can answer you, praying the bathroom will offer you haven for the moment.

You're only a few short steps from the bathroom when the dizziness hits you. Goodbye haven. You grab blindly for the wall, your hand shaking and searching for anything to steady you. It collides with a person seconds before you're about fall, their arms reaching out to grab you just as you do. This isn't the first time, nor do you think it will be the last, but you really wished it hadn't happened in a crowded pub.

"Rory?!"

It takes a minute or two for you to regain your senses and to register that someone is talking to you. You can't quite place the voice, but you're too focused on your shaking hands to really try. Once they stop you know you'll be ok, so you stare at them, waiting for them to catch up. When they finally do stop you're not really sure how long you've been sitting on the ground but it's then that you remember someone caught you and they're still talking to you.

It's at that moment you wish you'd never looked up. That you'd never reached out to him. That you'd never gotten dizzy in the first place. He's looking down at you with a look that can only be described as sheer panic, mixed with slight confusion. His voice suddenly comes rushing at you, like someone turned up the volume all of a sudden.

"Rory are you ok? Can you hear me? Someone should call an ambulance!" Hello alarm bells. The last thing you need right now is a trip to the emergency room, it wouldn't end well.

"I'm fine. I'm ok. I just got dizzy." He finally calms down, no longer looking like a frightened puppy. But it doesn't take long for his look of fear to become one of concern. Oh yay.

"Can you stand?" You nod and he pulls you to your feet, finally giving you a once over. It's a head rush to stand and he knows it, the concern on his face deepens. You haven't seen him for months, four if you're counting. Travelling somewhere for summer vacation. You never bothered to ask where.

"Thanks." You need to say something, anything so he'll stop just staring at you.

"No worries Ace." You would have preferred the head spins to that punch in the gut. What makes him think he can say that to you after all this time? Slight smirk in place and it's like nothing has changed. But everything has and now you'd give anything to not be standing in front of him.

"Well I was just headed to the ladies room so I'll see you around Logan." He blocks you as you attempt to get past him, his smirk disappearing.

"What just happened there Ace?" ACE. ACE. ACE. Can't he come up with anything else?

"It's just been a long day. Had a momentary brain meltdown. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." You attempt to get passed him again but he continues to block your path.

"It didn't look like a momentary brain meltdown Rory. And you don't look fine." Him calling you Rory doesn't feel any better than Ace. You know what he's getting at. But you also know he won't have the guts to go there. No one ever does. They just hang on tight to their theories and suspicions but they never actually say anything, that wouldn't be 'right'. He's no different and when push comes to shove he won't take his shot.

"What do I look like then Logan?!" Push.

He can't answer you. He doesn't want to admit what you look like. Not to himself and certainly not to you. So with a disappointed sigh he moves out of your way, watching you as you pass and slam the bathroom door shut behind you.

The cold water helps. You've picked up a few tricks to help with the head spins and the weakness, cold water being one of them. A quick look in the mirror, something you usually avoid, shows you just how fragile you are now – purplish bruises already showing on your arms from where Logan caught you. You shouldn't be surprised, you've always bruised easily and these days it's even worse. You wait a few minutes, regaining some composure, before heading back to your table and the date you left waiting.

Another punch in the gut awaits you when you get back to your table and the 'guest' currently sitting in your seat, talking happily to your date. His demeanour changes completely when you approach the table, letting the conversation come to halt.

"You're in my seat Logan." It takes him a few seconds to register that you're there on a date, with his friend apparently, but he covers his surprise quickly.

"How rude of me. Take a seat Ace." He makes a gesture of getting up and allowing you to return to your seat, ever the drama queen. "You never told me you knew Trevor." Trevor? Really? You couldn't have been more wrong with your other guesses.

"You don't know all my friends Logan." He's fast getting on your nerves and by the looks of it he's getting on Trevor's too. Jealous?

"So you two know each other?" Trevor's comment brings Logan back to Trevor and the conversation he must have been having before you sat down.

"Sorry Trev', Rory and I go way back." You can see Trevor's ego deflate as soon as Logan says it. You can see him mentally weighing the idea that you were Huntzburger's first. You already know it won't sit well with him. Competition never sits well with any one, you should know. "Well I'll let you crazy kids get back to your dinner." You don't miss the look he gives your salad, then you. "We'll talk soon Trevor. Rory." He nods to you both before disappearing from the table.

The rest of dinner is awkward and mostly silent, which doesn't really bother you, it's not like you have a lot to say anyway. When he drops you back at your dorm he gives you a polite kiss on the cheek before walking away and you know that'll be the last time you see him.

Paris is MIA when you make your way through the dorm room, something you couldn't be happier about. She has taken it upon herself to constantly remind you about your weight and your eating habits and Logan. She worries. But you've reassured enough that she hasn't gone to your mother yet. You're positive if she saw you more that would not be the case.

Shutting yourself inside your room you begin the nightly ritual - Peal off the many layers of clothing you are now prone to wearing (singlets, t-shirts, tights, jackets, scarves – none of it is enough though, the cold still penetrates your bones, leaving you shaking at all times), mirror (checking to see if you've disappeared yet – part of you is still there, you count your ribs to be sure) and the scales to make sure the mirror didn't lie. The numbers are still going down, slowly but surely, and you're wearing more clothes than ever but you're still here.

You say "when".


	2. Chapter 2

**TIME FRAME - This story is set at the end of season 5. It's pretty AU/OOC. Logan broke up with Rory and the end of the season because he couldn't handle a relationship and then proceeded to go on a holiday with his friends. The situation with Mitchum never happened.**

Since school started back up you've been busier than ever, making it even easier to avoid people. Your mum calls every few days to check on you. You have no doubt she knows what's going on but you truthfully don't think she knows what to do with the information, so her option has become pretending it doesn't exist. Your grandparents have been travelling for most of the summer holidays so she thankfully hasn't had to endure the sight of you pushing your food around your plate or the conversation/war that will likely ensue with them. If she saw you now you don't think she'd be able to handle it though. It's been almost two months since you've seen her and the last time you did she could barely contain her concern at your appearance. You can admit to yourself that things are so much worse now.

But there is a point, a purpose. You tell yourself over and over again that there's a point. And when you get there, you'll know what it is. You'll know when to stop, when you're fixed and you feel like you again. You haven't felt like you since him. But it's not like you felt yourself when you were with him either. It's all just taking you in circles.

Logan's presence also seems to have increased since you returned to school, always at meal times – his way of confirming his own suspicions you suspect. He doesn't bother to say anything most of the time, he just gives you the look - that one of pity, concern and disbelief and a side of judgement for good measure. Who is he to judge you though? It's not like he's a saint. Far from it. Huntzberger – playboy extraordinaire, irresponsible, lazy and every other mean phrase you've thought of since the break up, and probably before it.

There are moments when your brain reminds you just how stupid all of this is, doing this for him, because of him. You've been through break ups before and you tell yourself time and again that he's nothing, certainly not worth going through this hell for – but it was never just that and you know it. It is what it is though and you wouldn't get off this train even if you knew how. So you keep jumping on the scale and staring in that mirror, going on pointless dates and letting yourself become the things you thought you hated.

The lights are all off when you finally drag yourself home, not that you expected Paris to wait up for you, wouldn't have put it past her though. You're not sure what time it is, but it must be close to dawn, the sky is just starting to lighten.

The walk to your room takes longer than it should, your drunken stumbling slowing you down and making you loud. You pray that Paris is out cold, not being able to stand the thought of a run in with her tonight.

In the comfort of your room, your lair, you begin the process of ridding yourself of the various paraphernalia from the night. Thigh high boots with heals too high to be considered appropriate footwear. A mess of clips and pins that once held your hair up perfectly with intricate detail. Sliding out of the overside wool jacket that covers a simple black dress that got you more than enough attention throughout the evening, you feel like you can breathe again. The makeup is the last to go, slowly removing smoky eyes and pouty lips. It's a process you've perfected and yet it still feels somewhat ridiculous, all the effort. You never used to care that much.

Crawling beneath your soft, white sheets you know you won't wake until the sun is going down and it's time to do it all again. That's what the weekends are for though isn't it. It's not like you can go home anymore.

The loud bangs sounding from the dorm common room wake you up to the knowledge that you did in fact wake Paris up when you stumbled in several hours earlier, her revenge is painful. The sun is already too bright and Paris repeatedly slamming cupboards and doors makes your head feel like it's being beaten with a sledge hammer. It's the severe wave of nausea that get's you out of bed though and running to the bathroom, straight past an enraged Paris. She'll still be there when you come back. You throw up nothing but the alcohol from the night before, not an ounce of food to cushion any of it – followed by what seems like hours of dry retching. It doesn't feel like one of your finest moments, hunched on the bathroom floor wishing you'd eaten something in the last 24 hours so that you'd at least have something to throw up.

Paris is waiting for you when you finally return, her face telling you that you're in for a "talk". Yet again. These are becoming a weekly ritual.

"Listen Paris I'm really sorry I woke you up this morning. I promise..."

"I don't want to talk about that Rory" she cuts you off, giving you a once over. It's getting old, people doing that, as if that can't look at you without making it so damn obvious. They don't have to move their whole freaking head and give you 'the look'. Do they think you can't look in the mirror yourself? Do they think them looking at you like that helps in any way?

"Well I'm going to head back to bed then." You make a break for your room, praying that she'll let it drop.

"I'm not finished." Letting it go has never been Paris' style. "Look Rory I'm going to put this bluntly, you look like death walking." Definitely didn't let it go.

"Don't sugar coat it Paris, why don't you tell me what you really think?" You chuckle to yourself, not really certain why it's funny, but it seems funny. How could this not be?

"You need to get help Rory." Of course you need help but doesn't she realise you're not there yet. She must see it.

"Paris we've talked about this. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." You dismiss the conversation with a wave of your arm and turn back towards your room.

"I'm calling Lorelai." She couldn't just leave it.

"I'm a grown adult. I can do whatever I want Paris. We're not children anymore, you can't just go running to my mother to tattle on me if I don't agree with you. You would know that if you'd had any friends as a child or ever." With that 'friendly' blow to the gut you finally make it back to your room, although it doesn't seem like the sanctuary it once did. A fleeting glimpse of Paris' face before you close the door tells you how hard your comment hit. She should know better than anyone that weak spots are to be exploited. It's not like you wanted to hurt her but she didn't leave you much of a choice, this doesn't have anything to do with her so she should just stay the hell out of it – just like everyone else. They should all just let you handle it. You've got it under control.

When you finally venture out of your room again in search of coffee it's late in the afternoon and Paris is nowhere in sight. You're not sure whether to interpret that as a good thing or a bad thing. You have your doubts that she'll really go to Lorelai. Your comments about friends would have a hit the right spot to prevent her risking the only friendship she's got.

The line-up for coffee is at least 10 people deep when you get there, other hungover individuals like yourself. You tune out while waiting for the line to move, going over article ideas in your head, trying not to think about your pounding headache.

"Rory." And your day continues to get worse as Logan joins you in the line.

"Logan." You hope your voice is as dismissive as you intend it to be, he's the last person you want to be talking to right now.

"Caught a glimpse of you at the pub last night, you should have come over and said hello, the guys would have loved to see you." His perseverance is really starting to wear you down. How can he not tell that you don't want to be anywhere near him? So much has changed and he just keeps acting like Logan, which just keeps making it harder. You don't need it to get harder though. Your head is only just above water as is.

"Sorry I missed you. I'll be sure to say hi next time." You worked very hard to avoid him at the pub, as well as all his lackeys, you have no intention of saying hi next time. He's staring at you from the corner of his eye while you continue to look anywhere but him, trying to ignore the looks, pretend he isn't there. It's obvious he wants to say something; you can see him mentally preparing himself, which is never a good sign. You've already had a showdown with Paris today, you don't want another one, especially not in such a public arena.

The line moves suddenly, taking you to the front of the queue and you don't think you've ever been so grateful. In a matter of moments a coffee is placed securely in your hand and you waste no time in bringing it to your lips – the smell alone is enough to ease your hangover.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about Ace." Logan butts in before the barista can even respond, taking it upon himself to pay for your coffee along with his.

"That's really not necessary Logan." You hate the feeling of owing him something, even something as simple and small as a coffee. It just feels like one more thing for him to hold over you. He ignores your comment entirely and begins to move away from the cart. But you can't let it go. Paris hovering around is one thing, at least you know she does care in her own twisted way. But Logan? You can't figure out his angle, and you're sure there is one. There is no reason for him to be hanging around, giving you endless looks of pity. He walked away. It's over. Done. So that leaves you to think he's either hanging around to gloat, see how the mighty have fallen or there some over deranged reason for his constant presence. Either way you want him gone.

"Look Logan you need to stop this."

"Stop what Ace?" He legitimately looks confused by your statement.

"Well for one thing, calling my Ace. You need to stop that. And secondly, you need to stop hanging around. I don't know why you're doing it and I'm not really sure I want to, but it needs to end. Now." The words come out harsher than you thought they would and you now have the attention of the rest of the people in the coffee line. Of course you had to make a scene, your day was not yet complete.

Logan eyes you warily before speaking; taking note of the spectators you've gained.

"Why don't we talk about this some place that isn't here?" He gently grabs your arm and leads away from the audience.

As soon as you reach a more secluded spot you pull your arm free of his grip, you can't stand the thought of him touching you. He looks hurt by the action but you're not really sure why.

"What's going on with you Rory?"

"Look, I meant what I said, you need to stop hanging around. Go find someone else to be amused by." You make a move to walk away but he blocks your path, his look of concern becoming one of anger.

"You think I'm amused? Why would I possibly be amused?" His yells take you aback, you weren't really prepared for this.

"I don't know why. But I can't think of any other reason why you keep hanging around. We're done. You made that abundantly clear. So if you're not hanging around to mock the leftovers of our relationship then what the fuck are you doing? What do you want?" You're starting to feel lightheaded, it's cold outside and you've just used a substantial portion of your energy getting into an argument that you really don't have the energy to finish. You were running on empty even before the hangover and now you're hitting rock bottom. Your holding the coffee cup tightly in your hands in an attempt to stop them from shaking, the last thing you need is for him to see you shaking. This just needs to be over.

"Nice to know you think so highly of me Rory. For your information I've been hanging around because once upon a time we were actually friends and I wanted to make sure you were okay." Okay. That's relative right? At this exact moment you wouldn't say you felt okay. But normally you are, right?

"While it may go against what your ego thinks, I survived the break up just fine Logan. No need to check up on the jilted ex. I'm just fine. So you can drop the concern routine and go back to your bachelor life, I'm sure it's happy to have you back." You wait a few moments for a rebuttal but nothing comes, he's out of steam and so are you. You use all of your focus and energy to stand tall and make your way passed him, barging his shoulder as you go.

That was not a good idea.

Stars appear almost instantly, the connection with Logan's shoulder sending you stumbling backwards dizzy and out of breath. You can only just make out Logan rushing towards you before your body gives up altogether.

Black.


End file.
